


(I know I should but I) can't let you go

by PrettyDemonBoy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon Divergence, Casual Sex, Fae!Jaskier, Geralt is oblivious, Geralt of Rivia: Himbo King, Geralt wants to be left alone, Lack of Communication, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Universe Alteration, fairy!jaskier, immortal!jaskier, its about the pining, jaskier is a flirt, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyDemonBoy/pseuds/PrettyDemonBoy
Summary: Geralt is having a good day. Decent hunt, decent coin, no obvious hatred when he enters town, he's feeling good enough he might even seek out some company for the night.He should know better than to press his luck.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 102
Kudos: 342





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this tumblr post: https://theshitpostcalligrapher.tumblr.com/post/182008838506/thewinterotter-constant-instigator
> 
> I love the idea that A) Geralt just likes to give head sometimes and B) that he would completely miss the fact that Jaskier is a fairy and would end up in a situation like this.

It was well after sundown by the time Geralt rode back into town. He’d initially arrived early in the morning, having heard rumors of drowners in the surrounding forest. He dispatched them easily enough, and he was actually feeling pretty okay as he walked Roach toward the alderman’s. He wasn’t covered in viscera either, so he could go without a bath. That worked out well in Geralt’s mind, because he was in the mood for a different kind of luxury tonight.

He collected payment from the alderman, enough to afford a room, and he was reasonably certain he had enough to get himself a decent meal and a drink or two. The real question was whether or not this town had someone who could provide the kind of service he was looking for.

The inn wasn’t crowded, but everyone still gave him a wide berth as he entered. Fine with him. That made it easier for him to rent his room for the night and get his meal, and he could eat in peace. He sat down in the corner with a bowl of stew and a mug of ale. The stew was hot, the ale was decent, and it was easy enough to avoid the suspicious looks people threw his way when they noticed a witcher sitting in their town pub. For once, everything seemed to be going his way.

Which is exactly why he became instantly suspicious of the man that walked over to him as he was finishing his meal and sat across from him. 

“I know who you are.” 

Geralt spared a glance up and found himself staring into a pair of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, framed by soft pale skin and a head of lush dark hair. The young man sitting in front of him was wearing a garish outfit and there was a lute strung across his back. _Fuck,_ Geralt thought. He should have known better than to think that he would go a single night without something irritating happening. Even if everything else was fine, something was going to disturb his evening. Why not a bard?

He didn’t respond, just stared at the man in the hopes that his gaze would be enough to scare him away. It didn’t, which was far more in line with Geralt’s usual string of luck. If anything, his stare seemed to intrigue the bard more.

“I can only imagine how many people you’ve seduced with a look like that, Witcher.”

Geralt watched pale pink lips part, allowing the bard’s tongue to flick out and wet them. “Why are you bothering me?” he asked, setting his mouth in a hard line as he stared the bard down.

“Am I bothering you? So sorry. You just looked so interesting, sitting alone in the corner all brooding and broad shouldered. I thought I’d come offer my company.”

“I’ve no need of a bard’s company.”

Geralt’s comment seemed to sail right over the bard’s head, except for one part. “Oh so you noticed my lute!” he exclaimed, leaning forward excitedly. “I could compose so many songs about you, I can already tell. Care to share a story?”

“No.”

Geralt looked away and downed the last of his ale before getting up to grab another drink. He was disappointed but not surprised when the bard was still sitting down at the table when he came back. Geralt pointedly ignored him and continued drinking.

“What if we did a trade? A story for…” the bard paused, tapping a neatly trimmed nail against his chin. “A kiss?”

“How is that a fair trade?” Geralt asked, the words surprising him even more so than the bard.

“I think it’s a wonderful trade! I get material for my next song, you get a kiss from yours truly. Or, I mean, if you wanted me to kiss somewhere else I wouldn’t say no.”

Geralt stared in something like disbelief at the flirtatious wink sent his way and wondered briefly if this was some kind of trap. He couldn’t sense anything off about the man. In fact, when Geralt attempted to scent the air around him, all he could smell was a faint hint of arousal and something floral. The most surprising thing was that he couldn’t smell an ounce of fear on him. Whoever this bard was, he was completely unafraid of Geralt, and that alone stirred something in him that he really didn’t want to think about.

“What kind of story?”

The bard’s eyes lit up and Geralt regretted his decision immediately. There was something about the way this man leaned forward though, like he was ready to hang on Geralt’s every word, that made him feel strangely...not uncomfortable.

“What brings you to town?”

“Drowners.”

There was a beat where the bard waited for Geralt to continue, but all he did was take another swig of his ale.

“And…?”

“Got rid of ‘em.”

“Well yes I imagine so, but what happened? How many were there? Did you get hurt? What was the weather like?”

Geralt stared at him and raised an eyebrow. “You want to know about the weather?”

“Dark and stormy nights are good atmosphere.”

Geralt sighed, and slowly, he began to divulge information about his fight with the drowners. It was easier when the bard asked specific questions, but he still didn’t offer up many details. He knew this story wasn’t going to be useful to the bard, or rather he was going to try and make it as useless as possible. He couldn’t believe he was willingly speaking to this irritating, albeit vaguely intriguing man.

No matter how simplistic he was with his answers, the bard paid close attention, nodding and asking follow up questions when he wanted additional information. The conversation went on far longer than Geralt anticipated, and he had gone through more ale than he expected as well. When he did finally finish his story, he didn’t feel drunk by any stretch, but he felt loose and relaxed, just enough that he thought maybe he’d get a decent night’s rest.

“Alright bard, I gave you your story,” Geralt said, standing up and moving to pay his tab. The bard followed, floral scent enveloping Geralt like a cloud.

“Yes, but I didn’t give you your end of the bargain.”

Something possessed Geralt in that moment. Or at least that’s what he planned on telling people if they asked why he said what he said next.

“Guess you’d better come make good on it then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier makes good on his end of the bargain, but Geralt gives Jaskier even more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blowjobs ahoy! This also turned into some praise kink because let's be honest, Geralt is a good boy who deserves praise. So have fun with that.

Geralt turned and headed up the stairs, not needing to look to see if the bard was following him. The sound of excited footsteps was more than enough evidence. It also meant that he was serious about letting Geralt kiss him, potentially other things too, and maybe he felt a little lucky again, because it’s not like he paid the bard to sleep with him. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he’d found a partner for the night that didn’t ask for coin immediately after he’d finished.

When he got up to the room, the bard was close behind, close enough that Geralt could feel his breath hot on his neck. Any other time Geralt would probably shove him backward for invading his space but right now, it just served to make his blood rush south. He shoved the key into the lock and twisted. Once the door clicked, he shouldered it open and spun around to pull the bard in.

His lips were as soft as Geralt imagined they would be, and he could feel stubble when he reached up to cup the bard’s jaw. He tasted like ale, and beneath that was something sweet he couldn’t name. Perhaps the bard just tasted like dessert, which Geralt thought was more than fitting because all he could think of right now was devouring the man whole. He drank in the soft, eager moans coming from the bard’s throat and let his hands drift down to wrap around slender hips. There was a slam and Geralt realized that the bard had kicked the door shut behind him, giving Geralt the opportunity to push him back up against it.

He reluctantly broke the kiss, figuring the bard would eventually need to breathe. As he did, he kicked his feet apart and shoved a thigh between the man’s legs.

“Sweet merciful Melitele, aren’t you an eager boy,” the bard crooned. Geralt watched as he leaned in and then felt him lick a stripe up his neck. He stifled a groan, but he couldn’t stop himself from tilting his head back to give him better access. There was no denying the mischievous grin on the bard’s face and Geralt felt his face flush at the idea that he was presenting himself like this.

The bard dove in, latching onto Geralt’s pulse point with lips and teeth and worrying the skin until it was sure to bruise come morning. At the same time, Geralt could feel him rutting against his thigh, the bard’s cock hard against his trousers. So many things crossed Geralt’s mind at that moment, all things he wanted to do to the bard, or have the bard do to him, but one thing rang out clearer than all the rest. One hunger that he needed to appease for this night to be worth it.

“Bard,” Geralt ground out, squeezing his hands tighter around his hips and swinging them around so that the bard’s back was now towards the bed.

“Hmm? Oh please, call me Jaskier,” the bard, _Jaskier_ , said with a dreamy sigh. Geralt thought of dandelions and wondered if that’s what that floral undertone in Jaskier’s scent was. He wondered, also, if Jaskier’s cock would taste as sweet as his lips.

“Jaskier, then,” Geralt said, briefly admiring the way his name curled on his tongue. “Get on the bed. I’m going to suck your cock until you come down my throat.”

His words held no inflection to them, but it was a question all the same as Geralt stood back enough to let Jaskier move of his own accord. He wasn’t about to force anything, but there was a very large part of him that hoped Jaskier would agree to his proposal.

Jaskier, for his part, looked like Geralt had just proposed actual marriage to him. His grin grew impossibly wider and he couldn’t get out of his trousers fast enough. In his haste he forgot to remove his boots, so the clothing wound up tangled ‘round his ankles. He only fussed for a moment before he said, “Fuck it,” and sat down on the edge of the bed with the trousers still on.

Geralt took the opportunity to admire Jaskier’s cock, standing hard against his stomach. Surprisingly big for a human, not so much in girth but in length. There was almost an elegance to it, a stark contrast to the absolutely debauched look Jaskier was wearing. Geralt could see precum beading at the tip and without a thought, he swiped his fingertip across it and brought the fluid to his mouth. Jaskier let out a whine which Geralt ignored in favor of humming thoughtfully. He was sweet. Geralt very rarely got to enjoy sweet things, he was looking forward to savoring this one.

He stepped forward, crowding into Jaskier’s space and leaning down to kiss him once more. Jaskier moaned again, immediately sliding his tongue in while Geralt wrapped a hand around his prick. He gave it a few experimental strokes, enjoying the way Jaskier writhed and shook underneath him with the barest stimulation.

“Witcher,” Jaskier mumbles against Geralt’s lips. Geralt barely has time to register the shift from wanton and desperate to something that demanded to be heard. “I distinctly remember you saying something about sucking my cock until I cum down that lovely throat of yours. Do you plan to make good on that?”

Something in the way Jaskier spoke now had Geralt’s cock twitching in his pants. He stared at Jaskier for a moment, seeing how his eyes had darkened with lust and his lips were red and swollen. He knelt down in front of him, pushing his legs apart enough to nestle between them, and continued staring up at Jaskier as he briefly ran his tongue along the underside of his cock.

Jaskier let out a throaty moan and smiled down at Geralt. “There’s a good boy.”

Geralt let out a choked noise and leaned into Jaskier’s hand where it came to rest against his cheek. “Fuck,” he murmured quietly. Somehow this stranger, this talkative obnoxious bard, managed to suss out exactly the thing that would make Geralt weak in the knees. If Geralt had had one less drink in him, he might have run for the hills, away from those perceptive and cunning blue eyes and that quick mouth. But he was here now, and he did not run. Instead, he licked his lips and wrapped them around the tip of Jaskier’s dick.

He ran his tongue over the slit, gathering up more precum and using it to slide further down along the shaft. Again, Jaskier was almost impossibly sweet. There was the familiar taste of salt and sweat and skin, but beyond that was something that Geralt could imagine himself quickly growing addicted to. Best not to think about things like that though, and so instead he focused on getting his fill while he could. He pulled back, hollowing his cheeks as he did so, and after hearing the satisfied sigh from above he proceeded to do it a few more times.

When he began to bob his head in earnest, he felt fingers tighten in his locks and give a slight tug. Geralt moaned around Jaskier’s cock and felt his hips buck of their own accord, and Jaskier mercifully tugged harder.

“Look at you darling,” Jaskier said, voice smooth as honey. “Taking my cock so well, so eager.”

Geralt’s face burned at the praise, but he groaned and pulled back enough to suckle at the head of Jaskier’s cock. It was enough to break Jaskier’s composure, a throaty moan escaping from his lips as he thrust up into Geralt’s mouth.

“Fuck yes, that’s delicious,” Jaskier groaned. 

Geralt briefly contemplates letting this man use his throat, and the thought hits him so hard that he almost comes right there, untouched, still in his own trousers. He managed to hold back though, because he can’t do that. Not here, with this stranger who, for all Geralt knew, was going to write a dumb song about this experience. He didn’t care for the most part. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sucked cock before, but there was a difference between sucking cock and having your throat fucked until your voice was all but gone the next day. Geralt knew what he wanted, but once again it seemed like he would have to settle for the next best thing.

He threw his arm across Jaskier’s stomach and pinned him down, stopping his thrusting hips in their tracks. Then, with a fluid motion, he let go of the base of his cock and swallowed him all the way down. Geralt only hoped that the tavern was still busy, because otherwise the whole place was sure to have heard Jaskier’s shout as his cock was enveloped in the tight warm heat of Geralt’s throat.

“Gods, yes, yes, oh that’s so good,” Jaskier rambled, fisting his hand tighter in Geralt’s hair and drawing out a moan that vibrated along his cock. “Witcher, I’m close. Take your cock out and touch yourself.”

The command was gentle, but it had Geralt scrambling to unlace his trousers with one hand all the same. A moment later his own dick was in his hand, hard and leaking and it took him a moment to find a rhythm between sucking Jaskier’s cock and jerking himself off but once he did it was pure bliss. Jaskier was moaning constantly now and Geralt could feel muscles beneath his smooth skin contracting as he tried in vain to fuck up into Geralt’s mouth once more. 

“So good for me, oh yes just like that, just a little more, _oh!_ ”

Jaskier erupted into his throat and a moment later, Geralt felt himself spill over his fingers as he rocked frantically into his hand. He let out a drawn out groan and lapped greedily at the head of Jaskier’s cock, swallowing down every last drop like his life depended on it. He pulled away when the last of the bard’s twitching had subsided and took a brief moment to breathe uninhibited. Had he been human, perhaps he would already feel soreness overtaking his throat. He smiled wryly to himself, because of all the things people might think of as perks of being a witcher, Geralt doubted that one of them was not getting sore from sucking cock.

When he finally stood up, he did feel a bit of ache in his knees from kneeling on the hard wooden floor, and that he could have done without. He grabbed a corner of the sheet on the bed and wiped his hands off on it before tucking himself back into his pants. Jaskier was lying boneless on the bed, looking less like a vision of lust and more a tired and slightly ridiculous man with his pants hanging around his ankles. He was staring back up at Geralt though, and those bright blue eyes were half-lidded with weary satisfaction, that same dreamy smile still on his face.

“You going to lay like that all night?” Geralt asked.

“I can’t help it that you’ve sucked the life out of me,” Jaskier said, still a bit breathless but moving to right himself a second later. Only, instead of fixing his pants and leaving, he fixed his pants and then took his boots off. Then he wriggled backwards until he was lying across the length of the bed, head propped up on his hand, and looking at Geralt expectantly.

“...What are you doing?”

“Well, I don’t know about you and all your Witchery stamina but I’m exhausted, so I’m getting ready for bed.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier spread out on the bed like he owned it and couldn’t help the confused furrow of his brows. “You’re...staying?”

The look Jaskier gave him made Geralt feel like he’d grown a second head. “Of course I am. I mean, unless you don’t want me to? That’s fine, I’ll just be on my way then. I imagine there’s a room open still…”

Jaskier kept talking as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and Geralt watched as he stood to make his way towards the door. Before he could get far, Geralt’s feet seemed to move of their own accord until he was close enough to reach out and catch Jaskier by the elbow. “Wait,” he said quietly.

“Yes?”

The look on Jaskier’s face wasn’t one of hurt, but Geralt could see the faint disappointment in his eyes. When he tried to figure out what that meant though, his head seemed to go fuzzy, like his brain couldn’t comprehend the simple fact that Jaskier wanted to _stay_.

“You don’t...you can stay.”

“I _can_ do lots of things, darling. It’s a matter of whether I’m wanted or not.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier away from the door, his grip gentle but firm. His face felt warm and he couldn’t quite look at Jaskier when he spoke next. “People don’t usually want to stick around.”

He couldn’t hide the hitch in his breath when Jaskier leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I’m not most people.”

When Jaskier pulled away, Geralt swore he saw something flash in the bard’s eyes. The next moment though they were the same cornflower blue they had been all night, and Jaskier was now the one leading him, though Geralt’s grip on his elbow hadn’t lessened. He allowed Jaskier to maneuver them both into bed. He didn’t protest when Jaskier tugged his boots off. He curled his body to fit against Jaskier’s, one slim arm draped across his waist.

“Comfy?”

Geralt nodded, not trusting himself to speak out loud. There was a bell ringing in his head, not a warning, because nothing about Jaskier felt threatening or bad, but there was definitely something different about him. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Geralt was too tired, too relaxed and loose from the alcohol to give a damn. He wonders briefly if he’s under some kind of spell, but he’s so warm and he feels like he’s melting into the bed, into Jaskier’s embrace, that he forgets for a moment that he’s a Witcher and is supposed to deal with things like that.

Whatever it is going on, Geralt thinks, it can wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea if this is good or not lol. Hope it is, hope y'all are enjoying it. Feedback, comments, kudos, etc are welcome as always. You can also yell at me on tumblr @pretttydemonboy if you want!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Geralt has some strange feelings. Jaskier brings breakfast, and Geralt asks some questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I did not set out to write this with the intent of it potentially being like...an actual multi-chapter fic. If you ask where this is going, I definitely do not have an answer for you! I hope you enjoy this chapter regardless! Also I'm playing it super fast and loose with the faerie lore here because it is merely a vessel for me to write these two idiots.

When Geralt does wake up the next morning, the bed is cold next to him and he has to shove down the sharp pang of disappointment he feels. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but there was a small part of him that hoped he would see Jaskier’s face in the early morning sunlight. The bard was already a vision, even in dim tavern light, but something about Jaskier screamed sunshine.

As Geralt sat up and lamented that he wouldn’t get to witness such a sight (and simultaneously wonder why the _fuck_ he was thinking things like that all of a sudden?) he heard footsteps making their way towards the door of his room. The steps were unhurried, but Geralt could tell by the pattern that whoever was heading his way was carrying something cumbersome. He got up from the bed and rolled some of the stiffness from his shoulders before he crossed the room and opened the door.

“You’re awake! Wonderful, I was worried I would have to rouse you myself.”

Geralt stared, brow furrowed in confusion, as Jaskier nudged his way back into the room, arms laden with a tray of bread and cheese and fruit and a pitcher of water. He sauntered in and set the tray and pitcher down on the small table and immediately busied himself with slicing the bread and cheese. He was humming to himself, something that Geralt vaguely remembered from the night before when Jaskier was performing. All Geralt could do was stand there and watch.

“Shut the door darling,” Jaskier called over his shoulder. “You’re letting in a draft.”

Geralt pushed the door shut and then folded his arms across his chest. “What are you doing?” His mouth was dry, rough with sleep, and he instinctively took a step towards the water pitcher before he stopped himself and continued to stare at Jaskier’s back.

Jaskier turned and Geralt was right about him looking better in the sunlight. His eyes were blue, so blue, and his skin was a lot paler than Geralt initially thought, but rather than looking sickly, Jaskier just looked soft. He wanted to touch him again.

“I got breakfast, I’m preparing breakfast?”

Jaskier said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Geralt supposed it was if he was talking about what Jaskier was physically, literally doing at this very moment.

“...Right.”

Geralt watched Jaskier’s smile light up the room before he turned back to what he was doing. When he realized that Jaskier was serious about breakfast and that he still wasn’t planning on going anywhere, Geralt felt some of the tension slip out of his shoulders and moved to pour himself a cup of water.  
“Figured your throat might be a little sore,” Jaskier said, fixing Geralt with a sly wink and a smirk.

Geralt grunted and tried to send a glare his way, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. His throat was sore and he was grateful for the water. He was also grateful for the food as well, but before he gave in to the urge to tear into the spread, he looked at Jaskier again.

“How much?”

Jaskier looked at him like he didn’t understand. “How much what?”

“How much for the food.”

“Oh, it’s already paid for.”

Geralt sighed. “How much do I owe you for my share.”

There it was again. A flash in Jaskier’s eyes, something more. Geralt knew he hadn’t imagined it last night. Now that he could see Jaskier in the light of day, he saw that his eyes were just a little too bright, his teeth a little too sharp. It explained...well it didn’t explain much actually. Maybe it explained why Jaskier reminded Geralt so much of sweets and flowers, but not why he was being so kind. 

After all, the fae were technically monsters.

Geralt saw the flicker in Jaskier’s eye and knew that he knew that Geralt knew. Jaskier let go of the knife and slowly raised his hands up and backed away from the food, and from Geralt. For some reason, the movement sat like a stone in Geralt’s stomach.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Jaskier said, and Geralt heard the anxious edge in his voice coupled with the way his heart fluttered like a tiny bird’s wings in his chest.

“Really? Because it looks like I took a faerie to bed and now he’s trying to get me to eat food that I didn’t properly pay for.”

Suddenly, Geralt was angry. Angry at Jaskier, yes, but more than that he was angry at himself. He had been foolish enough to believe that someone actually wanted him, wasn’t using him for coin or using him to say they’d had the guts to fuck a witcher. He was angry that he had even looked twice at Jaskier because now that conniving little faerie was trying to trap him and-

“You already paid!”

Jaskier’s shout brought Geralt out of his stormy thoughts and he realized that in his rage he had stomped over and pinned Jaskier to the wall. His hands were on the bard’s shoulders ( _was he even actually a bard?_ ) and Jaskier’s face was twisted in discomfort at the pressure on his collarbone.

“What are you talking about? I’ve given you nothing.” Geralt grits out, glaring at Jaskier and wishing he didn’t smell so damn sweet. 

Even with him pinning Jaskier against the wall, there wasn’t the slightest scent of fear on him. Jaskier didn’t even flinch at Geralt’s words, instead he let out a sharp breath of a laugh and tilted his head until he was staring at the ceiling. Geralt glanced up as if he could see whatever it was that had captured Jaskier’s attention, which was just enough of a distraction for Jaskier to bring his arms up and shove Geralt’s hands off. Geralt stumbled forward and instead of colliding with Jaskier like he should have, he smacked into the wall. Jaskier had managed to duck down and roll away from Geralt.

When Geralt got his bearings and spun around, Jaskier was standing behind him with his hands up in a placating gesture. Any hint of his fae nature had been carefully concealed once more, looking for all intents and purposes like a regular human. 

“Look, I know what this looks like. I do. Like I said though, you’ve already ‘paid’ and this,” Jaskier gestured towards the food on the table. “Is just me being nice anyways.”

“I haven’t paid, unless you robbed me in my sleep, and that doesn’t count.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You know for a witcher, you really ought to brush up on your faerie lore.”

Geralt got the distinct feeling that he was missing something and quickly tried to flash back through the events of the previous night. That was a mistake, because suddenly Geralt’s head was filled with images of Jaskier, face flushed and hair sticking to his forehead while Geralt kneels between him. It’s not like he’d suddenly forgotten, but thinking about it made heat flush his cheeks again.

“Sit down, I’ll explain.”

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

Jaskier shrugged and took a seat at the table. Geralt watched as he helped himself to the food he’d already sliced up, but he remained standing. He tried to glance casually over at where his swords were propped up against the wall. It would only take a few quick strides, he could get there before Jaskier was any wiser. If he could get around Jaskier, he didn’t even have to hurt him, he could just leave, because despite everything, Geralt didn’t actually _want_ to hurt Jaskier. He just wanted to leave and pretend last night never happened.

“So, yes there’s a whole thing about accepting things from the Fae and I’m sure some Fae like to keep tradition and kidnap people to their lairs or what have you,” Jaskier began, sliding the cup Geralt had poured himself across the table for him. Geralt hesitated for a few moments but eventually reached out and picked it up, though he didn’t actually take a drink yet.

“Really though, nowadays most of us just do tradeoffs. Back and forth type things. I help you, you help me, and that’s the end of it, you know? We just don’t like being indebted to anyone, or having anyone indebted to us.”

“Hmm.”

“Last night, for instance. I asked for a story and offered you a kiss in return. You gave me a story, and then we kissed.”

“We did more than that.”

“Therein lies your payment, darling.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Geralt suddenly remembered how dry his throat was and quickly downed the water he’d poured for himself. It definitely wasn’t in an effort to not meet Jaskier’s gaze, which even without looking he could tell was sparkling smugly.

“So you see, by, ahem, servicing me, you did me a favor and now I want to pay you back for that.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Geralt still didn’t look at Jaskier, instead focusing on a spot on the floor that was extremely interesting.

“Mmm, perhaps not. But I’m going to.”

“By buying me breakfast?”

“It’s a start. It’s hardly sufficient payment for last night, but I have a plan for the rest.”

The rest? What the hell was Jaskier planning?

“What do you mean the rest? I’m not staying here.”

Jaskier smiled, which Geralt could not see because he was pointedly not looking at him still. “I didn’t think you were.”

Geralt set down the now empty cup and finally grabbed some of the food off the tray. He still didn’t sit down, but the growl in his stomach had become too loud to ignore. What’s more, Jaskier could tell too and kept giving Geralt a withering look. His instincts, briefly on high alert after discovering Jaskier’s true nature, were quiet once more. Jaskier was not a threat, at least not right now. There was still the possibility that Jaskier was putting some kind of spell on him, but the chances of that became increasingly less likely the more he listened to Jaskier talk.

“So what then do you intend to do to...pay me back the rest of the way?”

At this, Jaskier gave a grin that Geralt made him regret asking. “I’ve heard stories about you, Geralt of Rivia, and you are desperately in need of some damage control.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward a year since Geralt met Jaskier, and the bard hasn't left his side, determined to make good on his end of the bargain. The only problem is, Geralt isn't so sure he can handle the beautiful bard being around much longer, especially if it's out of some ridiculous Fae obligation.

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher,  
O valley of plenty,  
O valley of plenty!”_

Geralt stared into the mug of ale in front of him as the other patrons in the tavern sang along. Despite his best efforts to look as mysterious and terrifying as possible, people kept looking at him. The humans in this tavern did not look at him with hatred, but with curiosity and something like awe. 

Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure which one he hated more. At least when people were afraid of him, he could reasonably avoid talking to anyone. As it stood though, at least three people had come up to him this evening to ask him questions about hunting monsters, or about his hair, or his swords. Each person got a different, blunt reply that left little room for continuing the conversation. No matter how much they wanted to know, they never wanted to know enough to risk pissing Geralt off.

Jaskier had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand, eyes alight as his fingers strummed his lute. He moved around the tavern, leaning in close to various patrons as if inviting them to a private duet. Every so often, Geralt would feel those eyes turn his way and if he looked up, Jaskier always had a small, private smile waiting for him. Geralt never returned the gesture, but it didn’t break Jaskier’s stride in the slightest. He just grinned and moved on to the next person vying for his attention.

“You must feel so lucky.”

Geralt flicked his eyes over to the barmaid that had sauntered her way over, pitcher of ale in her hand and poised to refill his flagon. He wordlessly slid it closer to her. No sense in passing up free flowing booze, even if it’s hopelessly watered down.

“Lucky. Interesting word for it,” Geralt muttered. What part of a Witcher’s life did luck have any hand in?

“I tell you, if I had a man like that I’d feel like I was on top of the world.”

Geralt looked up in time to see the barmaid nod her head towards Jaskier. Did she think…?

“I don’t have him. He’s free to come and go as he pleases.”

“Oh of course, I didn’t think he was your prisoner or anything. But you certainly have him, even if you don’t know it.”

“Are you going to top me off or are you going to stand here talking all night?”

The barmaid’s expression was not nearly as upset as Geralt was hoping it would be. She smirked at him, as if they were both in on some sort of joke, and filled his cup before walking to the opposite side of the tavern. Geralt took a large swig and pulled a slight face before he looked up, searching for the bard once more.

When Jaskier told him almost a year ago that he was going to help Geralt with his image, he had almost laughed in the bard’s face. The very notion that he could convince people to like Geralt was insane to even think about, especially since Jaskier thought he was going to do it through _song_. Worst part was the song was barely the truth, so even if people liked him because of it, they weren’t liking the real Geralt. They were enamored with the fantastical heroic version of Geralt constructed through fancy words and pretty melodies.

Of course, all his grumbling more or less went out the window when Jaskier’s plan actually started to work. It was a sudden, startling thing. From one town to the next, he went from being chased out to being welcomed into the town and praised for his efforts. Securing rooms became significantly easier, and he suspected that where people had been overcharging him before, they stopped, because it no longer felt like he was being robbed blind just for a bed to use. 

There were still plenty of places that hated him, but the ones that didn’t...well there were more of them than there were a year ago. Those places always held the words of Jaskier’s songs in the air, melodies hummed as people did their morning chores. More than once, they’d entered a tavern only for an eager drunk to immediately shout ‘Toss a coin to your Witcher!’ and hoist up his mug as a greeting. 

There was also the matter of Jaskier himself. Jaskier, with his sharp tongue and too blue eyes. Jaskier, who talked constantly and didn’t stop no matter how much Geralt pretended to ignore him (in reality, Jaskier’s incessant chatter was welcome background noise and kept his own thoughts at bay. Jaskier, who helped treat Geralt’s wounds when he was injured, who washed his hair with far more reverence than he felt worthy of. Jaskier, who Geralt was realizing very quickly, always seemed eager to help in any way he could, even if it wasn’t actually helpful.

For a faerie, Jaskier was almost entirely useless when it came to fighting, which often meant Geralt tried his damndest to keep Jaskier from tagging along.

“How am I meant to compose epic ballads about you if I don’t go along? No offense, but you have no flair when you tell stories. I need the gory details!”

So Jaskier came along anyways because Geralt couldn’t be bothered to argue with someone as stubborn as he was. All he asked was that Jaskier stay hidden and out of the way if he wasn’t going to fight. Apparently this was agreeable enough, because Jaskier was content to hide so long as he could peek around and see Geralt in action.

The hunts that Jaskier followed him on were always the hardest. Even if Jaskier was hiding out of sight of whatever beast Geralt grappled with, there was always a small part of him that was focused on the bard. If he didn’t know where he was at all times, he found it hard to concentrate. He told himself it was just because he didn’t want to be responsible for Jaskier getting hurt, but deep down he knew it was more than that. 

Jaskier always came out fine though, and Geralt too. There were a few times when he maybe had to lean on the bard until they could find a safe spot to camp, and maybe Jaskier helped him with some of the harder to reach injuries.

What did it all mean though?

Jaskier was just fulfilling his end of the bargain; his promise to bring Geralt’s reputation up from the muck. That was what kept him around, nothing more.

_“A friend of humanity!”_

The song ended and the tavern erupted in a cacophony of cheering. Jaskier held his lute out to the side and made a show of bowing gracefully, and Geralt tried hard not to think about threading his fingers through that soft chestnut hair.

After learning what exactly had ‘bound’ Jaskier to his side for the time being, Geralt pointedly avoided doing anything that could be construed as a ‘favor’ to the bard unless it was paid back in kind immediately. Things like meals and rooms and baths, those things were easily traded back and forth while they traveled together. 

If he tried to make sure Jaskier had things first, or had the better share of whatever food he caught in the forest, Jaskier never pointed it out. If Jaskier bought soaps with scents that didn’t bother Geralt’s nose as much, if he massaged Geralt’s scalp and braided his hair after washing it, Geralt didn’t point it out.

They hadn’t done anything of a sexual nature since that first night. Nevertheless, Geralt found himself quietly enjoying the bard’s company, at least when he wasn’t out hunting. The moment he realized that he liked having Jaskier around was when he realized he needed to step back. There wasn’t much he could do about the situation right now, because no matter how docile Jaskier seemed, Geralt wasn’t going to risk pissing off one of the Fae by saying he didn’t want Jaskier’s help. He could, however, do his best to make sure he didn’t extend his deal with Jaskier any further. 

Once Jaskier had finished collecting the coins people were, quite literally, tossing his way, Geralt watched as he made his way over to the corner booth that had been his resting place for the better part of the night. He could smell the adrenaline and sweat on Jaskier, still just as sweet but with the slightest tang to it, so fragrant he could practically taste it on his tongue. He had to stop himself before taking a deep inhale to savor the scent. Geralt hadn’t met many Fae in his time, they tended to keep to themselves for the most part, but he couldn’t imagine any of them smelling as good as Jaskier did.

“Just _look_ at this Geralt, they loved me!” Jaskier said, shaking the coin purse that was now significantly heavier than when they walked in earlier that evening. “And more importantly, they love _you_.”

“They love the pretty lies you sing.”

“Not lies, Geralt. You know very well I can’t lie. I simply dance elegantly around the truth.”

“As good as a lie. You know that’s not how it happened.”

“Geralt, must you be such a stick in the mud?”

 _Yes, because your happiness is an infectious and dangerous thing._ “Hm.”

“Well, I for one think I’m doing a splendid job.” Jaskier took Geralt’s flagon before he could stop him ( _not true_ ) and took a healthy drink before setting it back down in front of him.

“Ready for bed?”

Geralt nodded quickly. He’d been ready for a while honestly, but one look at Jaskier’s coin purse told him it had been a wise choice not to interrupt or leave in the middle of his performance. Jaskier told him it usually helps if Geralt is actually there, doing his mysterious Witcher thing and brooding in the corner. He stuck around for the potential of more coin, definitely not because he liked hearing Jaskier sing, liked watching him parade around like a merry little peacock with his colorful clothes and his pretty hair and talented fingers.

_Fuck._

“Come on then, I’m exhausted and my feet are absolutely killing me.”

Geralt led the way up to the room he’d already secured for the night, thankful that Jaskier was behind him and couldn’t see the fond, if exasperated, smile on his face. Once inside, he wasted no time in divesting himself of his armor. If he focused on that, he didn’t have to look at Jaskier stripping down to his underclothes like it was no big deal. He tried not to look at Jaskier during moments like these, but a lot can happen in a year and Geralt has definitely caught more than a few glimpses of Jaskier’s body.

He looked human, but Geralt had learned fairly quickly from Jaskier that it was the result of a glamour spell contained in a delicate anklet he always wore inside his boot. He never took it off and the most Geralt had ever seen of Jaskier’s true form was the occasional glimpse of too sharp teeth and the flash of his eyes, a little bigger and brighter than they should be. He wasn’t sure if that was his Witcher senses seeing past the glamour, or if the glamour wasn’t as effective as Jaskier thought it was, or, and this option was as far as Geralt went with crazy speculation, if Jaskier was allowing him to see these glimpses on purpose.

Like now, when he did risk a glance over his shoulder he swore he could see the pointed tips of Jaskier’s ears. They were gone as soon as he saw them though, and Geralt knew a regular human wouldn’t have noticed.

“Why do you keep your glamour up?” The question fell from Geralt’s mouth before he knew what was happening.

Jaskier at least had the grace not to look startled by the question, he just tilted his head and fixed Geralt with a smile. “Well, I don’t exactly have a good reason to drop it, now do I? People can’t even handle elves, and they’re not even that different looking.” The smile is betrayed by the bitter pang in his voice and Geralt wished he hadn’t asked. “Humans would take one look at me and either run for the hills, or run for their torches and pitchforks.”

“But you keep it up around me too. When it’s just us.”

“Well I’ve got to have some mystery about me, don’t I?”

“Do you?”

Jaskier chuckled and Geralt watched as he swiftly crossed the room until he was standing in front of Geralt.

“You’re clever, you know that?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, then watched as Jaskier reached up and tapped him on the nose with his index finger. “And you’re very good about avoiding questions you don’t want to answer.”

“See? Clever boy.”

Another smile and Jaskier stepped back, putting distance between them that Geralt was both grateful for and regretful of. It was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off the bard. He wouldn’t keep Jaskier here out of any further obligation.

“So you’re not going to answer then?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Jaskier shook his head, and Geralt thought he saw a wistful look cross his delicate features. “I may not be able to lie, but that doesn’t mean I have to answer. Not yet.”  
Jaskier crawled into bed and quickly scooted to the edge. With his head propped up on his head, he wiggled his eyebrows and patted the empty spot next to him. “Come on Witcher, don’t leave me all cold and alone here.”

It was impossible to refuse such a request. Even if Geralt had really wanted to, they’d both decided early on that sharing a bed when there was only one was the most practical solution, rather than switching who got the bed with each new inn. Geralt refused to curl up close to Jaskier though, refused to let any part of him touch the bard. Usually Jaskier got the hint and didn’t close the distance between them. Apparently something was different tonight, because as soon as Geralt’s back was touching the bed, Jaskier was crawling close.

“Geralt?”

“Mmm.”

“I want to cuddle you.”

“...Why?”

“Because you’re warm and you’re comfy.”

On the one hand, it was an innocent enough compliment. On the other hand, Geralt knew Jaskier too well by this point. On an invisible third hand, he also knew that Jaskier wasn’t doing anything out of any kind of genuine feeling for Geralt. He just wanted some warmth. Geralt could give him that, as long as he got something back. He thought for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the feeling of Jaskier’s breath hot on his cheek, before he finally nodded and lifted his arm up and around Jaskier’s shoulders.

“Fine, but you’re buying breakfast in the morning.”

“Deal!”

Jaskier was glued to his side a moment later, head on Geralt’s chest, arm thrown over his stomach, and legs tangled together. For all his complaints of being cold, Jaskier felt warm wherever he made contact with Geralt’s bare skin. His stomach was soft against Geralt’s side, his hair tickled Geralt’s neck, and the skin of his shoulder was smooth beneath Geralt’s calloused fingers. It was a flood of too many sensations, too many thoughts and feelings, all centered on the bard currently pressed to his side like he’d float away if it weren’t for Geralt.

Despite all that, Geralt felt more at peace than he had in awhile. Jaskier was warm, soft, and already his breathing was evening out. Apparently he was more exhausted from his performance that he had initially let on. Geralt found himself relaxing into the bard’s embrace and he tried to tell himself that this didn’t mean anything. It was all just simple trades, a back and forth, mutually beneficial agreement.

And then Jaskier nuzzled in closer, pressing his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck, and the utterly content sigh that blew across his neck had Geralt’s heart jumping in his chest.

_...Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt: *softly, but with a lot of feeling* Fuck.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience! My life is kind of a mess at the moment, but I'm working on both it and this fic, so hopefully you're all willing to stick with it lol. Lemme know what you think! As always kudos and comments appreciated. If you want to yell at me about it my tumblr is pretttydemonboy (with 3 t's!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt continues being confused about his own feelings and about Jaskier's intentions. Jaskier is just having a good time, until he isn't and Geralt isn't either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels like it took forever but I know it hasn't actually been that long. This chapter is however way longer than the others so uh yeah have fun with that!

Jaskier bought breakfast the next morning as they’d agreed, along with some provisions for the road. The plan was for Geralt to start heading North, see what jobs he could scrounge up while the rest of the country was too busy fighting its royal battles in the South. A part of Geralt hoped that maybe word of his new reputation would have reached the likes of Cintra and Jaskier would consider his duty fulfilled, thus leaving Geralt to continue on his own. That part was currently at war with the rest of him that wanted him to jump off the nearest cliff for even suggesting that he would rather be without Jaskier’s company.

It was a cool day shaping up to be a cooler night as the first signs of autumn began to appear in the trees. The chill didn’t bother Geralt, and even Jaskier made minimal complaints as they set off. Jaskier walked alongside Roach, honoring the one thing Geralt had made clear he would never offer as a favor to Jaskier. Don’t touch Roach.

Jaskier didn’t need to know that it wasn’t actually about Roach, but rather about the fact that being that close to the faerie for any extended length of time would undoubtedly make Geralt’s mind unravel. It was easier to say that Roach didn’t like other people. Or at least it was until Jaskier had managed to work his charms on her. Geralt suspected bribery was a main tactic, she’d been looking a little bigger ever since Jaskier started traveling with them. Still, Jaskier never did more than complain halfheartedly about his ‘poor, aching feet, and really Geralt just because I’m not human doesn’t mean I can walk forever and I’m sure Roach wouldn’t actually mind…’ and so on. 

Today was just like any other day with Jaskier. Geralt rode on silently and Jaskier went back and forth between talking incessantly and strumming idly at his lute. Perhaps today, being as normal as it was, would be uneventful enough that Jaskier would decide he didn’t need to be with Geralt anymore. Geralt wished he could think about something other than the day he would eventually be alone again, but the thought consumed him like the plague.

“Geralt!”

Geralt was torn from his thoughts by the sudden sharpness of Jaskier’s voice. He looked down at Jaskier, eyes immediately narrowing as he looked for any sign of distress on the bard’s face. “What is it?”

“Nothing, except I’ve been trying to get your attention and you’ve been staring off into the distance like a brooding hero for ages.”

Geralt grunted and glared suspiciously at the area around them, as if he was still not convinced that nothing was about to jump out and attack them. He couldn’t detect anything in the forest by the road, nothing smelled off. He could smell pine, the distinct animal smell of Roach, and Jaskier’s honey sweet scent. When he finally looked back down at Jaskier, he found the bard staring at him with a strange look on his face.

“What are you staring at?”

“Something’s off. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. We need to keep moving, unless you want to spend the night outside.”

Jaskier gave him a withering stare. “The next town isn’t for miles Geralt, we’re definitely sleeping outside tonight.”

“Then we’d better find somewhere suitable.”

Geralt gave Roach a nudge and she continued on down the road. A moment later Geralt heard the sounds of Jaskier’s footsteps close behind. Jaskier talked more after that exchange, which Geralt previously hadn’t thought possible. He grunted occasionally, offered clipped answers to Jaskier’s questions about different monsters, but he only talked enough to keep Jaskier from interrogating him on his feelings again. He would rather spend a week in the belly of a selkimore.

When the sun began to fall, Geralt veered off the road and into the forest. It wasn’t difficult to find a place to make camp, and Jaskier collected wood for a fire while Geralt went off to see if he could hunt something down for supper.

Truth be told, Geralt was grateful for the bit of distance that hunting afforded him. Without Jaskier’s scent constantly surrounding him, he had a chance to think a little more clearly.

A whole year, Jaskier had stayed and traveled with Geralt in an attempt to spruce up his reputation. All for one blowjob. It didn’t make sense, even with Jaskier being a faerie. Geralt couldn’t see how it amounted to a fair trade, especially when he compared it to their other trades, and the trades Jaskier made with other people. The actions were always more or less equal, something that he had learned through his rare questions was unique to Jaskier. Many other Fae attempted to get more out of the other party in exchange for very little on their part, or they would do something so extravagant in exchange for something so small that the other person felt the need to do extra to make up for it, thereby extending the deal.

The fact that Jaskier was willing to share this information with Geralt was even more confusing. The latter sounded an awful lot like what was happening between them, but when Geralt questioned him on it, Jaskier simply laughed and made a flirty comment about just how good Geralt’s mouth had been. That usually ended any further questioning Geralt might have pursued, too busy trying to put the thought of just how good Jaskier had been out of his own mind.

Geralt returned to their campsite quicker than usual, two rabbits dangling at his side and ready to be skinned and cooked. He wasn’t usually unlucky when it came to hunting, but it was rare that he was able to snag something so quickly. Of course, any ounce of pride Geralt might have felt at this was immediately replaced by a wave of terror when he realized that the camp was empty. Jaskier was not there.

Geralt dropped the carcass and drew his sword. He’d missed something, how could he have missed something? And now Jaskier was...Geralt felt a growl rise up in his throat and quickly forced it back down. 

“Jaskier!” He called, his voice hoarse and strangled with emotion. He waited a beat, but there was no response. Nothing looked amiss around the campsite. He didn’t see any blood or drag marks, no sign that some beast or animal had come and torn him away. Seeing that, the option that was left in Geralt’s mind somehow hurt just as bad.

Still, Geralt pressed on, deeper into the woods, hoping to pick up the sugary scent that had become so familiar to him. If Jaskier was leaving, the least he could do was say something before he left, the bastard. Why would he just run off? Sure, the Fae had always had the reputation of being a flighty bunch, but Jaskier had never gone running off like this before. He always let Geralt know what he was doing and he was never gone long if he was.

He was going to find Jaskier just to tell him that if that’s how he was going to be then he could definitely fuck right off. The least he could do was say to Geralt’s face that their deal was done, that Jaskier didn’t want to waste his time with him anymore, at least then Geralt would know for certain and he could move on and stop pining over this stupid damned beautiful supernatural-

“Geralt!”

Jaskier was standing in the middle of a small, meadow-like clearing, looking like a child caught stealing sweets. Geralt straightened up when he saw him, completely unharmed, one hand behind his back while the other scratched nervously at his neck. He put his sword away, but didn’t pull his stormy glare away from the bard.

“I thought you were hunting.”

“And I thought you were back at camp. What the hell Jaskier?”

Jaskier actually had the audacity to laugh at Geralt, which only made him want to thrash the other man.

“What, am I supposed to just sit around like a princess and wait for her knight to come back with his spoils?” 

The look on Jaskier’s face was playful, but there was tension behind it. Geralt could smell the way it spoiled on Jaskier’s skin. Guilt, shame, embarrassment, nerves, they all smelled so sour, and Geralt hated it. He hated that Jaskier was leaving and he hated that Jaskier had the stones to feel bad about it when he was the one sneaking off without a word. Most of all, Geralt hated the fact that he had cared enough to go looking for the bard. He hated that he’d found him, and that he was now standing here trying to figure out what to say in response to Jaskier’s ridiculous question.

“If you’re going to leave, just say something. Don’t be a coward.”

“What? Geralt, what in the world are you talking about?”

“People like me better now, doesn’t that mean our deal is done? You paid me back for...you paid me back, so now you’re leaving. And that’s fine, I don’t give a shit, but you could at least say something instead of sneaking out while I’m out hunting for our dinner!”

He turned and walked, very calmly, definitely not storming like a petulant child, back to camp before Jaskier could respond. He heard Jaskier calling his name, but not the sound of footsteps following him across the forest floor. Geralt tried not to be disappointed by that fact, but there was still a bitter taste on his tongue when he finally reached camp again.

Geralt skinned and cooked one of the rabbits in silence. The smell of the meat began to overpower the lingering sweetness that was Jaskier, but it failed to awaken Geralt’s appetite. He wanted nothing more than to run back to where he’d left Jaskier and beg him not to go, not to leave him alone again. He wasn’t going to beg the Faerie though, he didn’t want his pity. He wanted, as usual, something he couldn’t have. He knew better than to want things for himself.

He barely tasted the rabbit, but he ate it as a matter of necessity. The other one hung up high enough to keep it from any scavengers, the plan being to have it for breakfast in the morning since he clearly didn’t need to hunt for two anymore. Geralt sat back down beside the fire and, for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

He didn’t shake, or sob, or even whimper. The tears just fell silently down his cheeks as he stared into the fire. The tracks they left were sticky and eventually his eyes started to itch and burn. He was alone again, like he always knew he would be.

When the fire began to die down, Geralt numbly cast Igni to start it up again. He didn’t want to sleep. If the fire attracted something, at least he would have a distraction.

Of course, as fate would have it, he would not be granted such mercies. Instead, Geralt could hear footsteps approaching, and with them the sweet smell of honey cakes. A moment later, Jaskier’s form appeared at the edge of the trees, hesitating. Geralt didn’t look up, couldn’t look up. He curled in on himself, shoulders hunched more than was actually comfortable, as if he could make himself small enough that Jaskier wouldn’t see his hulking frame by the fire. The tears had dried by now, but he wondered briefly if the tracks were visible in the light cast by the flames. He prayed that wasn’t the case.

Jaskier’s footsteps were soft as he approached. Geralt was acutely aware of his presence at his side, but still he didn’t look up.

“...What,” he finally whispered.

There was a spike of anger in Jaskier’s scent, but it disappeared as quickly as it came and a moment later there was something hanging in front of his face. He finally looked up and saw a chain of bright yellow flowers, intricately woven together in a circle that looked big enough to go around his wrist. Geralt’s throat dried up and his gaze flickered up to Jaskier briefly before going back to the flower circlet in front of him. Jaskier’s eyes were puffy and red.

“I was gathering flowers. That’s why I wasn’t at camp,” Jaskier said, his voice wobbling.

“I...I don’t…” Geralt paused and cleared his throat, trying to swallow over the thick lump of shame and regret lodged in his windpipe. “I don’t understand.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

Jaskier’s voice was soft and sad. “My kind tend to enjoy their secrecy a little too much for my taste. It makes things like this that much harder to explain.”

Geralt looked up again and saw Jaskier staring at the spot beside Geralt, as if asking for permission to sit down. With a small nod, Geralt shifted and folded his legs underneath him, giving Jaskier space to settle down. Jaskier sat down, still carefully holding the woven flowers in his hand. When he sat, Geralt could smell the sadness radiating off of him, like a rainstorm come to douse the fire.

“Before I start...Did you really think I was just going to abandon you like that?”

There was no way he was getting out of having this conversation, not now, not after what happened in the clearing. Geralt felt queasy and he briefly wondered if he could pretend the rabbit had made him sick, put this conversation off until the morning. But that assumed Jaskier would stay after this, and Geralt didn’t dare to hope for such things now. He stared at the ground between them, fingers clenching his thighs.

“I...no. I don’t think you would. When I got back and you weren’t here I panicked, thought something had happened. Then I saw you and you were fine and so I thought…” Geralt trailed off and inhaled deeply, slowly.

“Thought what, Geralt?”

Jaskier always said Geralt’s name with such reverence, like he was some kind of saint. Like he thought Geralt was the reason the sun shone and the moon gleamed.

“I thought you decided you’d done your job. I thought you were done with me.”

“My job?”

Geralt looked up then and found that Jaskier was staring at him with his head tilted in confusion.

“Yes, your...job. Your end of the bargain. You said you were going to fix my reputation in exchange for the...that night.”

There was a brief silence as Jaskier’s eyes slowly widened, and Geralt wondered if Jaskier hit his head at some point and had no memory of this deal, because he was currently acting as though he had no idea what Geralt was talking about.

Then, Jaskier began to laugh. Softly, at first, but soon he was laughing hysterically into his hands, shoulders shaking with the effort. Geralt frowned at him and huffed a breath out through his nose. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not, I’m not, I promise, I just...it all makes so much sense now,” Jaskier said through his hands. When he looked back up at Geralt his face was wet with tears.

Geralt was so confused. He dragged a hand down his face and then immediately brought it back up to run through his hair. Jaskier was laughing, but he was also crying? There was still a tinge of sadness to his scent, but it was nearly gone now, overpowered by the sweetness that Geralt had come to crave so dearly.

“You really thought I was traveling with you this long just to fulfill my end of a trade?”

“Of course I did, what else was I supposed to think?”

“Geralt that’s ludicrous. I mean yes of course that was the original intention behind my traveling with you but, people have come around rather quickly don’t you think? Sure it’s not perfect but even I can only do so much despite my considerable talents.” Jaskier cut himself off and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing the tears out of his eyes.

“Then why did you stay?”

Instead of answering immediately, Jaskier held up the flowers in his open palms. “Flowers hold a lot of meaning. I’m sure you know a few things about them, but for the Fae we have a whole thing about picking a flower that represents you. So you have that flower, it’s your symbol, your...calling card, basically.”  
Geralt nodded along, not sure where Jaskier was going with this but eager to listen to him nonetheless. A lot of times Jaskier would say things just to say them, just to hear himself talk or to try and get a response out of Geralt. Right now, however, Geralt was pretty sure there was a reason he was talking about this right now.

“It’s kind of like your medallion, actually,” Geralt glanced at the wolf hanging around his neck while Jaskier continued. “Anyways, the Fae use our flowers for a number of things. Like I said, we use it as a calling card of sorts, but it’s also used as a symbol of trust, friendship, and uh, courtship too.”

The flowers between them suddenly looked heavier than Geralt had previously thought. Jaskier was rambling and Geralt could see the faint tremble in his hands, but despite that he still managed to maintain eye contact, as much as Geralt would allow anyways. 

“And obviously it all depends on how you present them to the other person, and people have different ways of doing it. I like weaving. It doesn’t last that long, but that means I can refresh the vows often, remind the person that my feelings are still there.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt whispered, worried that if he spoke too loud it would somehow destroy the atmosphere that surrounded them. The fire thrummed, occasionally crackling as it spit embers to the ground. Beyond that, he swore he could heat the rapid thump of Jaskier’s heart in his chest. Even his was beating faster than usual, though still slow by comparison. He felt hot, but it wasn’t from the fire. This heat was inside, curling low in his gut.

“Geralt, I’ve been traveling with you because I value your companionship. You’re kind, and strong, and good, and you’re beautiful and I never said anything before because I didn’t want you to think you had to return my feelings. I thought after enough time had passed you would just know that I was here because I wanted to be. I’m sorry I didn’t make things clear to you.”

Jaskier was apologizing to him, even though Geralt was the one that had made a complete horse’s ass of himself. He shook his head, hair flailing wildly with the motion. He was the one who should be apologizing.

“I get it. I’m sorry. Obviously I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I can be gone first thing in the morning.”

Geralt snapped his gaze up to Jaskier as he continued to talk. What was he talking about? That was the exact opposite of what Geralt wanted. Now that he knew he’d misread things, he wasn’t about to let him go. Now that he knew he could want Jaskier, that Jaskier wanted him the same way, Geralt didn’t have to hold back. 

So he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated and feel free to scream at me @pretttydemonboy on Tumblr. ^_^


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this is what happened every time he talked about his feelings, Geralt might be more willing to do it.
> 
> aka the chapter where they finally bone, we did it y'all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I certainly didn't intend for this to take almost a month, but here we are. My humblest apologies.

Surging forward, Geralt put his hands on either side of Jaskier’s face and crashed their lips together with a noise of desperation. There was a brief moment where Jaskier didn’t respond and at first Geralt wondered if he’d made a mistake. Maybe Jaskier had meant that his feelings were purely platonic, rather than romantic. But those thoughts went right out the window when he felt Jaskier’s lips part for him and heard a whimper fall from his mouth. Jaskier’s tongue was sloppy and insistent against his own and Geralt could feel fresh tears falling down the bard’s face, catching on Geralt’s thumbs.

Geralt pulled away just enough to speak, staying close enough that he could feel Jaskier’s breath against his mouth. “Why are you crying?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because, my darling Witcher,” Jaskier began. He reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of Geralt’s shirt. “I’m in love with an absolute disaster of a man.”

Geralt’s laugh surprised him as much as it did Jaskier, but he just pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s and smiled. “I’m in love with you too.”

“You mean it? You’re not just saying that?”

“I mean it. I...I didn’t want to say anything before. Didn’t even want to admit it to myself, but it’s true.” Geralt sighed against Jaskier’s lips and kissed him again. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Jaskier let out what could only be described as a squeal before he launched himself forward, knocking Geralt off his balance and sending both of them to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Geralt didn’t give Jaskier a chance to apologize or worry about anything, he just wrapped his arms around the bard, _his_ bard, and attempted to lose himself in the symphony of sensations that was Jaskier.

They kissed for what seemed like ages, until their lips were swollen and tingled with overstimulation. Between kisses Jaskier and Geralt poured their hearts out, too overcome to restrain themselves any longer.

“Your voice is beautiful. Like a little lark’s.”

“You have the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen. I want to braid it and weave my flowers into it every day.”

“Your eyes are the prettiest blue, like the ocean froze over.”

“You’re brave and kind and beautiful and I want to keep you forever.”

“You smell like honey cakes. You smell like home.”

All the things they couldn’t bring themselves to say before now fell from their lips like a waterfall of pent up feelings. Though both their tears had dried, every caress drew out a desperate sob from Jaskier or caused Geralt’s breath to stop short. After a while, Jaskier started to press kisses down Geralt’s neck.

“Jaskier,” Geralt ground out, feeling his hips jut up of their own accord. “I need...please.”

“I need you too my darling,” Jaskier whispered against his ear. “I’ve always needed you.”

\---

One minute, Geralt and Jaskier were fully clothed, rutting against each other like desperate youths. The next minute, Geralt’s knees were up by his chest, hands tucked beneath them while Jaskier’s deft and slender fingers worked him open. Somehow they’d managed to compose themselves enough to get this far, but now that they’d reached this point, Geralt felt certain he was about to fall apart again. The stretch of his hole around Jaskier’s oiled fingers, coupled with the way Jaskier lavished every part of Geralt’s body he could reach with his tongue, teeth, and lips was almost more than he could bear.

“My darling wolf, my Witcher,” Jaskier murmured into Geralt’s neck. “Are you ready for me?”

Geralt just groaned and rolled his hips against Jaskier’s fingers, back arching when the motion caused him to press directly against that spot inside Geralt that made his vision go spotty. The next moment, Jaskier’s fingers slid slowly out of him and he couldn’t help the soft whine that rolled off his lips at the loss. He didn’t care if he sounded pathetic right now. They were alone in the woods, nobody around to judge a Witcher for letting a bard take him apart like this. All Geralt cared about was having Jaskier as close to him as possible.

Fortunately, Jaskier wasn’t in much better shape. Geralt could feel the way his fingers trembled as they stroked up his legs. He could hear the way Jaskier’s heart hammered against his chest. When Jaskier dislodged Geralt’s hands and then guided his ankles around himself, Geralt’s breath hitched. He grabbed the small vial of oil he’d procured earlier and upended it into his palm, coating his hand before reaching down and giving himself a few strokes. They were so close together that Jaskier’s knuckles brushed against Geralt’s own cock on every upstroke, a tease of stimulation that made Geralt want to throw Jaskier onto his back and sink down onto his cock, no more waiting, no patience.

Just as he was about to make good on that little fantasy, Jaskier pulled away just enough to line himself up with Geralt’s entrance. Blue eyes met his own and Geralt knew Jaskier was still searching for any sign of hesitation, any indication that this shouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t find any, but Geralt wanted Jaskier to _know_ how much he wanted this. Geralt put his hands on either side of Jaskier’s face and dragged him down into a desperate, bruising kiss.

Jaskier let out a soft growl that quickly morphed into a high pitched moan when the head of his cock finally pressed inside Geralt. He paused, giving Geralt time to adjust to the feeling. They kissed again, this one softer but no less passionate. Jaskier pushed forward slowly, panting with the effort, as Geralt’s eyes rolled back into his head. Everything about Jaskier was impossible to ignore and his cock was no different. Having it in his mouth was one thing but this was something else entirely. There was nothing but Jaskier. Jaskier’s mouth, Jaskier’s eyes, the soft brown hair on his chest, the sweat dripping down his stomach, Geralt wanted all of it forever.

“Geralt.”

Geralt snapped his gaze back to Jaskier.

“Did you hear me?”

“I...no,” Geralt said, feeling his face grow hot.

“I asked if you were okay. You went really still, I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me,” Geralt mumbled. “Move, please.” He didn’t care to tell Jaskier that he had spaced out just thinking about how much he wanted the bard around. They could talk more later, after Jaskier had passionately fucked his brains out.

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully and shifted enough to pull out, not pausing until just the head of his cock was left inside of Geralt before pressing back in with one smooth thrust. Geralt wasn’t sure who moaned louder, and after a few more thrusts he couldn’t be bothered to care. They began to move together, Geralt moving his hips to meet every thrust while Jaskier rolled forward with all the grace and power of a dancer. It started slow, but with a year’s worth of secret wanting spilling forth, it didn’t stay that way.

Geralt was not known for being especially vocal, not even during sex. Something about Jaskier made him want to be heard though. Maybe it was the way that praise fell from Jaskier’s lips every time Geralt made an appreciative noise. Maybe it was the way every one of his own moans seemed to drag one out of Jaskier like an echo. Whatever it was, Geralt grunted and groaned and sighed and Jaskier’s hips snapped forward faster and harder and it was rough and dirty, but there was a tenderness in the way Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes.

“Jaskier, I’m gonna…” he murmured, bringing his hands to Jaskier’s shoulders and holding on to him.

“Oh fuck, yes. Come for me darling,” Jaskier rasped. He spit into one of his hands and wrapped it around Geralt’s cock and stroked once, twice, three times before Geralt was spilling over Jaskier’s hand and across his stomach. Jaskier followed a few moments later, moaning at the feeling of Geralt clenching around his cock before emptying himself inside.  
When Jaskier finally slowed to a stop, his head drooped until Geralt could feel his forehead against his chest, both slick with rapidly cooling sweat. Geralt pushed gently on Jaskier’s back until he was laying fully on top of Geralt. Jaskier made a faint grumbling noise about laying in Geralt’s cum, but he clearly didn’t care that much as he made no effort to remedy the situation. They laid in silence for a while, both just catching their breaths and trying to process everything that had just happened.

Unsurprisingly, it was Jaskier who broke the silence first.

“Oh, the flowers!”

Not exactly what Geralt was expecting, and for a moment he had no idea what Jaskier was talking about. Before he could ask, Jaskier was untangling himself from Geralt’s embrace and pulling out, both of them hissing at the too-muchness of it. Once he was free though, Jaskier dove to the side and grabbed something off the ground. Geralt didn’t look over, but he could hear him fussing over it. That’s when he remembered what Jaskier meant by “flowers.”

Carefully, Geralt rolled onto his side to look at Jaskier, who was carefully checking over the circlet of yellow flowers. It must have gotten tossed to the side when they were otherwise preoccupied. A few of the flowers had fallen off and were lying on the ground by Jaskier’s knees. There was a deep frown on his face as he desperately tried to rework the flowers until there were no more gaps.

“You know, this really isn’t how I imagined things going. I mean, I definitely imagined spectacular sex, and it was spectacular, but there was a whole speech in my head and I was going to give you this and now it’s all ruined.”

Jaskier sounded like a kicked puppy and Geralt immediately felt guilt flood through him. He sat up in front of him, carefully reaching out and placing his hands over Jaskier’s.

“I’m sorry.”

“No no, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I mean, I guess it’s partially your fault, but it’s partially mine too. I just...I thought it was obvious? I guess? So when you got upset I was so shocked and I thought I could still salvage things. We did, but I still…” Jaskier trailed off, staring down the flowers that were steadily unraveling, now that the chain had been compromised.

Geralt frowned, searching his brain for the words to help Jaskier in this moment. Again, not exactly his strong suit. The lack of literature about Fae culture and lore meant he was at a loss for how this whole thing worked, or even what exactly it was that Jaskier was trying to do. Still, he wanted to do something to reassure Jaskier that this was something that could be fixed.

“We can...try again? I mean, the flowers and the speech. We can do it over, if you want. No arguments, no misunderstandings.”

At first Geralt thought that he might have said the wrong thing, because when Jaskier looked up at him his eyes were wet with tears again. But there was also a giant smile spreading across those beautiful cheeks and Geralt had to remember that apparently happy crying was a thing that Jaskier did.

“You mean it? I mean...you want to?”

“I will admit, I’m not a hundred percent sure what it is. But if it involves being with you, then yes. I want to.”

Geralt watched Jaskier toss the ruined circlet over his shoulder. A moment later, Jaskier wrapped himself around him, face buried in his neck. Careful not to dislodge him, Geralt leaned back until they were laying down again.

“I love you Geralt. I’m sorry I ever let you believe any different.”

“I love you too.”

Geralt didn’t know what else to say, but fortunately Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. He now seemed perfectly content to be as close to Geralt as possible, despite all the dirt and dried sweat. They definitely needed a bath, but there was a heavy, satisfied feeling deep in Geralt’s bones that told him it could wait until morning. For now, he let the dark curtain of sleep overtake him, taking comfort in knowing that Jaskier was curled up at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone sticking with me, thank you so much. The world is a garbage fire right now, but hopefully this brings a smile to some of your faces. I've got at least one more chapter in mind, maaaaaaaaaaaybe two. We'll see how the next one goes. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated and you're more than welcome to yell at me about this on tumblr @pretttydemonboy


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